


Little Moments Like These

by LunaDeSangre



Series: Love is... [6]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Snapshots, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: Kelly'sstupidlyin love. Matt doesn't know, but it's alright, somehow.Mostly.





	1. smite

**Author's Note:**

> Word of the Day <s>drabbles</s> sniplets snapshots thingies. Let's see how long I can keep this up. <s>Hopefully, more than _one day_.</s>

He's doing _that thing_ again. That thing _with his pen_.

Kelly inwardly groans, sliding in his seat, holding his magazine higher—but not high enough that he can't see Matt's perfect pink lips close around the end of the guy's pen again, with just a little flash of perfect white teeth, or the intense look of concentration on his goddamn _perfect_ face as he narrows his gorgeous, _gorgeous_ eyes at his crossword like it's personally offended him.

It probably has.

And Kelly should _not_ be envious of a _crossword_. But _fuck_, that's a sexy stare.

His bunker pants are getting a bit too tight. He clears his throat, straightening (Hah!) back up, and Matt switches his gaze to him, gorgeous eyes softening with warmth.

"Need any help?" Kelly, well, croaks.

Matt lets go of his poor, abused pen, and smiles at him. Kelly sort of forgets to breathes.

"Synonym for _in love_, seven letters?" Matt asks.

Kelly nearly laughs. "_Smitten_," he answers, grinning to see Matt scrambling to write it down, eyes big and sparkling.

It's how he feels, really.


	2. garniture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is seven times too long to be a drabble and it's weird and I'm a day late posting it because I was too sleepy to check it properly last night and just why did I get myself into this whyyyyy.

The worse part a concussion, Kelly thinks sullenly (and rather sluggishly) is the seemingly never-ending _boredom_ once the sleepy stage is past. He's been cleared on stipulation he lay down and, in Hallie's words, _do nothing_, which is why he's been mutinously sitting on the couch trying to find something even remotely interesting on TV (or just not nauseating) for the past hour. (Or so. His sense of time is kind of off.)

There is, of course, absolutely _nothing_.

He twists to sit on the couch backwards. Matt, his self-assigned concussion-sitter, throws him a _look_.

"I'm still sitting," Kelly grumps, aware of his _One Condition_ for being allowed out of his bed. He rests his chin on the back and watches Matt shake his head with a smile, then continue puttering in the kitchen.

He's rinsing salad. How _fascinating_.

"Did you finish that house extending thingy you were doing?" he asks, trying to get Matt to look at him again. It was something about an extra something, he recalls. Kitchen? No, that can't be right.

"Almost," Matt answers, looking back at him with a little smile before the baby tomatoes steal his attention, one of them escaping in a spectacular bouncing roll to the dubious safety of under the kitchen table. "All the heavy stuff is done," he continue distractedly, chasing it down, "the rest is just...." he waves a hand, vaguely, "_garniture_. Shouldn't be more than a day or two's worth of work."

The newly-recaptured baby tomato gets thoroughly washed again. Kelly stares. The word brings to mind his old high school french teacher and her constant frustration over his pronunciation. And _confiture_, which he's pretty sure he remembers as meaning _jam_, being a freaking nightmare to get right (_kon-phee-tuuuurrr. No Kelly, the e at the end is silent and wouldn't be pronounced ee even if it wasn't!_), and probably not at all what Matt means, because _why_ would there be jam on _a house?_

"My head hurts," he complains, turning back and flopping sideways on the couch. He's concussed, he's allowed to act like a child. Right?

A little puff of air against his face makes him open his eyes again, only to find Matt grinning at him from _inches_ away.

He takes a breath to ask (_What's so funny_, probably), and gets a wet, cold washcloth promptly plopped on his face.

Gently, but _still_. Kelly's let out an annoyed groaning growling sound before he can stop himself.

Matt snorts. Kelly gracelessly shuffles to lay on his back, and fights the _thing_ on his face just enough to free one eye and glare at him.

"Paint, trimmings, moldings and such," Matt explains, still crouching next to him and looking like he wants to laugh.

It takes a few seconds to sink in and connect. "You could have just _said_," Kelly grumbles.

Matt actually does laugh a little. "I thought I _had_," he answers. And, softly, while carefully arranging the washcloth to only cover Kelly's forehead and eyes: "How bad is it?"

It's not, not really. The cold wetness feels good, but it may be because of Matt's hand, holding it in place so gently. Kelly feels more _slow_ than anything else.

"Kel?" Matt asks again, even more softly.

Kelly gropes above his face blindly and catches Matt's wrist. It feels nice and cool, and he kind of never wants to move again.

But he doesn't want to worry Matt. "I'm fine," he mumbles. And, because he's got no filter on: "But—"

"But what?" Matt encourages, because, well, _of course_. He's _Matt_.

Kelly gnaws on his lower lip: the great thing about concussions, he remembers (a bit hazily), is it's easy to blame a lot of stupid shit on them.

"...can you stay here a little?" he finds himself asking in a whisper.

"Sure," Matt answers, immediate and just as soft. He moves a little (probably so he's sitting instead of crouching), but keeps his wrist in Kelly's loose grip, still holding the washcloth on Kelly's head. His other hand smoothly slides into Kelly's hair, fingers tenderly stroking his scalp. Kelly sighs happily.

"Hallie said she'll drop by on her lunch break to check on you," Matt is murmuring, "I can't give you more meds until then."

Kelly isn't really paying attention, though. He's too mesmerized by the hand in his hair, and how soft the inner skin of Matt's forearm feels under his fingers. He traces little circles on it with his thumb, just like Matt is doing on his scalp, and nearly hypnotizes himself to sleep.

Except that he finds himself fuzzily thinking Matt's rebellious baby tomato is probably making a run for it again. And he's sort of craving jam now.


	3. miscible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...basically spent five days writing about puree. _And couldn't even put that word in there._

Cooking isn't exactly Kelly's favorite activity. He can do it (he's fairly sure it's impossible to get through a candidacy if you can't cook), but he doesn't like it. And he never cooks for just himself.

It's too much of a waste of time: he can inhale in less than five minutes what took him a whole hour to prepare. Not worth it. Instead, if he's alone, he survives on take-outs, frozen dinners, and raw or microwaved things. Or cereals. (He really likes cereals.)

Possibly as a result of his terrible eating habits, when he's babysitting the Darden kids, it's with Matt there too, to act, as Heather puts it, _like the responsible adult_.

Which, really, is not something Kelly minds. _At all_. He might even be exaggerating _all_ his terrible, no-good habits when he's around Heather, precisely so she'll ask Matt to join him every time Andy (who, as usual, knows him too well to fall for his bullshit) thinks it's a good idea to leave him his spawns so he can take Heather out.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that means Matt is the one cooking, while Kelly plays tag with little Griffin all around the Darden's living room and makes whooshy noises for baby Ben as he holds him up Superman-style. (Matt feeds Ben though, because he's the baby-whisperer, and gets far less spit or puked on.)

Today's a hundredth, though: Matt walks through the door eight minutes late, clean-clothed but with a few bits of wood shavings still in his hair, and looking bone-deep tired. Kelly instantly feels like a jerk to have indirectly lured him here. (Which has happened before, and still hasn't stopped him from making Heather think he's irresponsible. He _is_ a jerk. A jerk in love is still a jerk.)

Despite this, after spinning Griffin around in a circle, kissing Ben's forehead, and giving Kelly a half-hug, he trudges to the kitchen and starts opening cupboards.

Kelly isn't enough of a jerk to let him slave away at the stove when it looks like all he can do is sleep.

So he grabs Matt by the arm, steers him toward the couch, gives him a little push, and, heedless of his owlish eyes, plonks Ben on his collapsed form. When in doubt, distract Matt with the baby. Matt is _always_ distracted by babies.

Then he promptly has to catch Griffin before the hyperactive little hellspawn can pounce on Matt again, hosting him up by the waist and tucking him under his arm sideways.

"Hey kid," he asks the flailing form gigglingly trying to get free, "wanna help me make dinner?"

He's met with a sudden lack of movement and a very doubtful pout. Matt grins at him from the couch, baby wiggling on his chest, apparently making a grab for his nose.

"Heather told me she stocked up on carrot puree boxes," Matt offers, dodging Ben's little fingers with an adoring smile.

"Hmm," Kelly pretends to ponder, "wanna help me make volcanoes with orange milk?"

"Milk isn't orange," Griffin protests with a funny little scowl.

Apparently, he's been too busy wreaking havoc before dinner to have ever seen the magical process of Making Puree From A Box. _Sweet_.

"It will be," Kelly answers sagely, ambling toward the kitchen with the now quiet little spawn still under his arm. "We're going to _turn it_ orange."

He sets the kid to stand on a stool, and Griffin already looks more interested. "And make volcanoes with it?" he asks, bright-eyed.

It's not an affair as messy as Kelly would have thought, given Griffin's propensity for chaos: Griffin doesn't try to touch the stove, or the heating pot (Kelly's watching him like a hawk to make sure), and he follows all of Kelly's instructions with uncharacteristic attentive obedience. Once the watered milk starts bubbling a bit ominously (to Griffin's obvious delight), Kelly reduces the heat, and hands him the opened packet of puree powder with the seriousness and flair of a magician (complete with appropriate hand-waving that makes Matt snicker at him from the living room), and the kid pours it in the pot with the utmost care, tongue poking out in concentration, while Kelly stirs the mixture in wide clock-wise and counter-clock-wise motions with a few eights figures in between.

Griffin, of course, begs to be allowed to handle the spoon.

"Well," Kelly hums, pretending to consider it, "I don't know, it's a big boy job." And while Griffin is straightening to his whole height on his stool, all but puffing out his cheeks to make himself look bigger: "Hey Matt, do you thinks he's big enough?"

Matt makes a little considering sound too, tilting his head in thought as he looks at the puffed-up Griffin (who makes big pleading eyes at him from his perch). "Hmm, I suppose he is," Matt finally answers, "he looks mighty tall—" (Griffin un-puffs with a grin at the praise, and Kelly nearly ruins everything by laughing at his exhilarated face) "—and he's got a little brother," he adds, snuggling Ben (who's gnawing on the end of his shirtsleeve), "and only big, responsible boys have little brothers, right?"

"I'm responsible!" Griffin agrees enthusiastically, head bobbing up and down almost violently. "You can ask Ben!"

Matt does just that, holding Ben to his ear to pretend to hear the answer, then solemnly telling Kelly that Griffin can have the spoon. Griffin nearly bounces in excitement, turning huge eyes on him.

"Alright, big boy," Kelly concedes, grandly handing it to him, "you need to make circles. Start with big ones, then make them smaller, so that you get the whole thing, okay? Don't slosh too much," he adds, when Griffin's first stir almost slops over the rim, "it'll mix better if you're gentle."

The kid pokes his tongue out again to do as instructed, and Kelly directs him to eights and alternative circles, to keep things interesting until the puree is done. Point of which he turns the stove off completely, transfers Griffin to a kitchen chair with a "Well done, buddy! Now we can make those volcanoes, just let me get plates," and makes the strategic mistake of turning around to do so.

Because he turns back around just in time to see Griffin racing toward the couch, spoon full of puree in his evil little hands.

"It's _orange_ and all thick, Uncle Matt, look, look!" the little hellspawn shouts triumphantly, _flailing_ with it.

Kelly chokes on a curse, and very nearly drops the plates _next_ to the kitchen table instead of _on_ it. But he doesn't, and he dives for the paper towels and scuttles behind Griffin like a demented cleaning crab to wipe the escaping puree blobs before the mess can set in the living room's carpeted floor. He finds himself having to wipe Ben's hair as well, and _both_ of Matt's forearms (there's miraculously nothing on his shirt). Griffin voluntarily hands him back the now-empty spoon with a sheepish smile and puree-covered hands, and it's absolutely impossible to be mad at him.

On the plus side, the whole thing makes Matt completely crack up. He's still giggling quietly a minute later when Kelly redeposits a cleaner Griffin at the table to makes volcanoes for the four of them with a fork (three big ones, plus a little one for Ben), and eyes him like a mama hawk while quickly microwaving ground beef (lava rocks) to stuff the volcanoes with.

Griffin, thankfully, carefully applies himself to his new task, not spilling any more puree, and the rest of the meal's preparation goes without further incidents.

All in all, Kelly would still call it a success: they have food, Matt's managed to rest a little (and was entertained), the kids are happy, and it's impossible to tell there was puree blobs on the living room's carpet by just looking at it. (Andy and Heather might never know.)

And if Griffin's amazed eyes and smug accomplished expression over their culinary art hadn't made it all worth it already, the affection-full dimpled smile Matt gives him as he sits at the table with Ben certainly would have. There's pretty much nothing in the world Kelly wouldn't do to get that smile.

Although, Heather calls him the next day to ask what the hell he did to make Griffin think he ate a magical volcano, and Shay has to take the phone from him because Kelly's laughing too hard to explain.


	4. satiate

The music is loud. Andy is busy crazily waltzing his giggling wife in the middle of the dance floor, and Shay's all but disappeared among the throng of wriggling girls on one side of it.

Which is a thought Kelly should probably find hot, but he's too busy watching Matt: Hallie's managed to coax him onto the other side of the floor, the one that's slightly less crowded, and he's doing an adorably awkward little head-bobbing thing in time with the music while she dances around him (having apparently given up on trying to make him dance _with_ her). They're both laughing—him self-consciously, her like he's the cutest thing she's ever seen.

Kelly knows the feeling.

Most of the time, he's past being jealous: _he_ pushed Matt at her, and she _is_ (generally) good for him. She also clearly loves him. And Matt loves _her_. They're good together. And Kelly _is_ happy to see Matt happy.

But once in a while...well, he can't help but want.

Like now: Hallie's managed to sneak behind Matt, grab his hand, and make him twirl under their joined arms like a girl in a rock and roll dance, and he's laughing so much he's nearly folding over. And Kelly wants _so badly_ to be in Hallie's place: to be the one making him twirl and laugh and have his own arms around him like hers—to be the one cackling in his ear while bodily holding him up.

It might be okay if that's all it was, but it somehow never is: Matt looks back at Kelly, that gorgeous smile still on his gorgeous face, and gives him a shy little wave. Kelly waves back, grinning—as always, too grateful Matt is still aware of him even with Hallie (literally) wrapped around him to not respond, and Matt laugh a little more, radiating excited happiness at him from all the way across the room. And for a few, too long seconds, all Kelly wants is to march over there and kiss him.

It's _all_ he wants, just to kiss him—to kiss him and _never stop_.

But (even if Hallie wasn't _right there_) Matt is engaged, and not interested, and Kelly's _promised_.

He's fine with it most of the time, he truly is. But Matt is Matt, and Kelly is only human: sometimes, like now, it's best he simply keeps his distance. He doesn't really trust himself to _not_ do something stupid if he saw Matt's happy smile from up close.

Because when Matt smiles like that—smiles like that and looks back at Kelly, all Kelly can think about is how this smile used to be only for him. Used to be only _because of him_. That he used to be the only one who could kiss it off those lips, make it wider, brighter, with nothing but more kisses. And that now, he'll never be able to do it again. He'll never be able to kiss Matt again.

That's another reason Kelly stays away, in moments like these: it's a fucking awful feeling, and he doesn't want anybody to see it in his eyes. The last thing he fucking needs is anyone asking him about it.

But the worst is not knowing he'll never be able to kiss Matt again: the worst is knowing, that for the rest of his life, even just once in a while, he'll feel _like this_. That he'll love, _always_, and occasionally want, _yearn_...with a hunger that will never be satiated.


	5. tortuous

One positive plus of having, however grudgingly, reconnected with Benny (Kelly still can't quite bring himself to say _Dad_, or _Pop_ like he used to) during his time in the academy, is that Kelly can now have free use of the cabin more-or-less whenever he wants.

(Contrary to popular opinion, though, he doesn't bring _dates_. He's never even _thought_ of bringing dates. Well, besides Matt, but Matt is pretty much the exception to everything.)

Kelly had _loved_ coming here as a kid. Not only because that was the only time he had his father all to himself, but because it made him feel _free_: here the world was something greater than schoolwork, concrete, car fumes and packs of obnoxious loud people. Here, everything was amazing: even the familiar was ever-changing—perpetually new, and always welcoming. The first time he came back, with Andy and Matt, after he finally accepted Benny's offer on their graduation day, Kelly had stood at the edge of the lake for _hours_, his best friend and his secret love sitting in silent, patient understanding a few yards behind him. He'd had tears in his eyes, for how much he had missed this place without even realizing it.

Since then, Andy, Matt and him have made it a point to escape there at least once or twice a year, leaving behind civilization and (growing) responsibilities for a few days to recharge far from it all. Boys' fishing trip, as they call it.

Whether there's actually fishing involved or not: sometimes it's just beers and multiple cold pizzas, and running around in dead leaves, or sitting together in a quiet, comforting hush. Just the three of them and mother nature.

But, each trip, Kelly is _always_ the designated driver-slash-expedition guide, and not just because it's his car and his father's cabin: Matt hadn't, before that first time here, right after graduation, ever been _out of the city_, and Andy, despite having come here numerous times as a child with Kelly's not-yet-imploded family, has a sense of orientation of an absolute _zero_. Kelly, though, knows all the unmarked trails in the woods, the little hidden private creeks, even the nooks and crannies in the trunks and the rocks. (In old kids' adventure novels, they'd potentially house treasures.)

So, every time, he points out the location of the moss, the angle of the sun, the particularly-recognizable trees, the direction of the slopes, the boulders, the shape of the lake's coast, and _every time_, the other two follow him like wide-eyed baby ducks, nod, and seemingly remember _nothing_ the next time over.

"I swear the moss fucking _moves_," Matt grumbles under his breath this time, glaring adorably at the nearest clump of it like it's solely responsible for his inability to figure out where they've come from.

"Or _the trees_ do," Andy agrees, looking like he'd very much like to kick one but isn't too sure it wouldn't kick back.

"_City boys_," Kelly dramatically sighs, shaking his head in mock-despair.

It's true: they're so hopeless he perpetually has to make sure they don't get lost accidentally wandering off without him. That first time, he'd made the terrible mistake of telling them to gather firewood, and things had turned into a three-hours unwanted exercise on finding two (mercifully uninjured) persons by shouts alone. He'd gotten them whistles since, but it's still something he never wants a repeat of.

Occasionally, though, he purposely takes them down the most tortuous paths. Just to mess with Andy's head and make Matt blink huge clueless eyes at him: sometimes it also makes Matt hold unto the end of his sleeve or to his backpack strap, when it gets dark and there's roots to trip on everywhere, and for a little while Kelly can pretend he didn't mess everything up.

(Andy has no problems cutting off the blood circulation of Kelly's other arm to avoid falling on his face, or hanging half his weight off the back of Kelly's pack, so Kelly thankfully never forgets enough to do something stupid, like push Matt up against a tree and kiss him senseless.)

"Yeah, well," Andy generally snarks back good-naturally to Kelly's eternal joke, "not everyone can be a born-woodsman."

"What can I say," Kelly quips, "it's a talent. Comes with my good looks and all."

He promptly has to dodge Andy's hand, aiming for the back of his head, but catches Matt's fondly exasperated grin out of the corner of his eyes, and, proudly beaming back like the idiot he is, fails to notice the dead branch traitorously half sticking out of the layers of dead leaves covering the trail, just _waiting_ to trip him.


	6. hiatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, right? How _ridiculously_ ironic to get stuck on _that_ prompt! I've been working on this since last August, for fuck's sake.

Kelly finds him on his and Shay's doorstep in the middle of the night. He usually doesn't go out the night before shift, but he'd been unable to sleep, and had finally decided to go for a drive to clear his mind.

Ironically, what he'd been thinking too much about was Matt. (Then again, he kind of always is.)

But yeah. It's one something a.m., and he opens the door on his way out and finds Matt on his doorstep, fiddling with his phone with an unsure look on his face and his gym bag besides his feet.

He blinks at Kelly like a sleep-deprived, frightened baby owl, and Kelly freezes and has to swallow a few times before he can move again. He's fairly sure he's had a few fantasies that started out just like this.

When he moves, it's to grab Matt's arm in one hand, his bag in the other, and Matt lets himself be tugged inside without a word, wide eyes fixed on Kelly's face like he's not sure what's happening.

Kelly gives him his best _it's okay_ smile, closes the door with one foot, and steers them toward the couch.

"Bad fight?" he asks, depositing Matt on it and putting the bag down on the floor next to him. It's not the first time Matt's shown up at his place looking lost (_far_ from it), and it's only ever been for one reason. Usually, though, it's not this late, and he (tentatively) texts first.

Matt nods, then shakes his head, makes a little aborted movement of his head that could be another nod, and sighs, eyes dropping to the floor. "I don't know," he finally answers, voice small and tired. "I'm sorry, I know it's late, I didn't know if I should text you, I didn't want to wake you up."

Kelly crouches at his feet to see his face. "I was up," he protests gently, hating to see Matt beat himself up over nothing, "see? I'm dressed. Or d'you think I sleep in my leather jacket?" he teases to make him smile.

That gets him a watery but warm little grin, which he happily responds to with a wide one. But then Matt's eyes drop down again, and he adds, hesitantly: "If you...have company, or something, I can—"

"Nope," Kelly interrupts, "you're staying. You _know_ Shay won't mind, and there's no one else here. And for the record?" he insists, tenderly raising Matt's head with a finger under his chin so Matt'll see in his eyes how serious he is, "You can always text me, okay? _Always_. I don't care how late it is, or what I'm doing, or _where I am_, if you need me, _I want to know_. Okay?"

Matt nods, but he looks completely overwhelmed, eyes _huge_ and rapidly filling with tears...that Kelly knows he'll be mortified to show. Even to the guy he always drifts to when things go bad.

"D'you want a hot chocolate?" Kelly asks, voice probably too soft, letting go of him gently—letting him hide himself again. "'Cause I can't sleep," he adds (because he knows how Matt's mind works, even for the most inconsequential things) "so I'm making one for myself."

Matt nods with a tiny, shaky smile, looking away from him and sniffling almost imperceptibly. Kelly can almost hear the silent _if it's no trouble_.

It goes again his very instincts, but he resists every further comforting urge in his body, gets up and ambles to the kitchen with a casual (he hopes): "Coming right up! Take your coat and shoes off, make yourself at home." Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Matt hesitate, obey, and then curl protectively into himself: regrouping, Kelly knows. Even if he doesn't like it one bit.

Though whether Matt's feeling the need to do so because of Hallie, or because Kelly's pushed too far...

He wrestles himself out of his jacket with frustrated violence, throwing it over the countertop, barely managing to calm himself enough to avoid slamming his phone and keys down next to it (not wanting to startle Matt with the angry noises), then spends too damn long looking into the fridge, staring blankly at the milk he's meant to be grabbing: every fibre of his being wants to turn back around and go hug Matt. Tightly. Hug him until the whole damn world disappears, and all that's making Matt sad with it.

It's pointless, wishful thinking: they've been here before. At less late an hour, less tired and raw, maybe, but there anyway. And he sure as fuck has overwhelmed Matt enough for one night.

He sure as fuck doesn't have the right to overwhelm him _more_.

So he makes the fucking hot chocolates, and pours Matt's into the cheeriest mug in the apartment (it's Shay's, and it has a dancing spider on it, with a wide grin, pink heels and a rainbow-colored witch hat topped by a tiny beaming bat). Back to the couch, Matt takes it from him with a quiet thanks, not quite able to look him in the eyes, but he smiles in a little amused exhale when he sees the spider, and Kelly finally feels like he's done something right.

So he kicks off his boots and sits next to Matt with his own mug, close but not too close, just enough that their knees touch but not their thighs or shoulders, letting him feel his presence without invading his space too much, and grabs the remote off the coffee table to hunt for something mindless on TV.

Mindless with zero romance and no violence seems to be almost impossible to find, but he finally stumbles on a marathon night of the old Star Trek series, and settles for that.

Eventually, Matt huddles closer, cradling his empty mug, looking small and quietly miserable.

Kelly finishes on his own now-lukewarm chocolate in basically one go, puts his mug on the coffee table, and turns to gently take Matt's—whose fingers are trembling slightly around it, and who won't look into Kelly's eyes. Kelly's heart _aches_.

So he gives in: Matt's moved toward him first, after all, he can justify _this._

Can justify putting down Matt's mug next to his own and taking the warm throw Shay keeps in a basket under the coffee table, spreading it over Matt's back. Can justify sliding right against him, thighs to thighs and ribs to ribs, putting an arm around his shoulders. Can justify holding him, a little, just like this, just like a good friend and nothing more.

Matt shyly, mutely tangles his fingers into the blanket, closing it over himself like a protective cocoon even as he pulls his socked feet up on the couch to curl into a ball. (The damn blanket is grey fleece, and it seems to suck all the color out of him even as it gently electrifies the short hairs on the back on his head, and Kelly has the sudden, irrational urge to find a bright blue one just for him. He's sure having something in a more vivid, happy shade to wrap himself into could make Matt smile at least a little.)

Kelly regulates his breathing, forcing himself to look straight at the TV, to _not_ turn and pull Matt all the way into his arms like he really wants to do. He's a friend. Just a friend, nothing more—and nothing less either. It's what Matt needs right now, anyway, isn't it? Just a friend, to hold him and ground him, without judgement or questions. So that's what Kelly is. (The core of it is, _this_ is all he ever wants: to be whatever Matt needs.)

Little by little, Matt relaxes again him, Kelly's heart slowly unclenching alongside, until at some point, on the screen, Captain Kirk does one of his improbable, ass-first attacking stunts, and Kelly lets out a slight, helpless laugh, unconsciously squishing Matt closer: Matt huffs a little wetly, immediately nestling into Kelly's side, his hair soft against the side of Kelly's neck.

He shakes a little, breath warm and hitched against Kelly's collarbone, and all Kelly can do is to hug him in response, tight, tugging him a little (almost over his lap, which is a too tempting thought), so Matt ends up tucked under his chin with Kelly's other arm softly rubbing his side through the blanket.

In the background, the TV enthusiastically launches into a new episode, but all Kelly cares about is Matt's gradually steadier little puffs of breath against his collarbone.

They fall asleep like that, on the couch, with the TV droning on: Matt is curled up against him like a blanket-wrapped kitten when Kelly finally notices groggily he's nodded off, his head resting on Kelly's shoulder, Kelly's arms locked around him. Kelly follows soon after, too grateful to be of help (to be _needed_) to even _think_ of moving, too selfishly glad to have Matt just for himself for a little while, even just like this. He's distantly aware his neck is going to kill him in the morning even as he lets it roll back on the couch, then inclines his head to softly brush his cheek against the top of Matt's so-soft hair and just stays there like this, drifting off to sleep holding and breathing _Matt_.

He wakes up alone all stretched out on the couch with the blanket on top of him, and panics for a few seconds, dizzy with an indistinct but _horrible_ sense of loss.

Until he hears soft voices from the kitchen, and springs up to spy his missing (unattainable) love having breakfast with his roommate at the counter. When he stumbles over with a big, reassured yawn, he sees they're both eating yogurt: obviously, Shay is in protectively comforting mode, if she's sharing her precious-es. (Kelly kind of adores her for it.)

It's a calm, comfortable affair from then, reassuring in its familiarity: Shay enthusiastically greets him good morning with her usual cheer, and keeps up a cheerful retelling of Ambo's latest weird calls while Kelly munches on his cereals and Matt nibbles his way through an apple and two slices of toast with blueberry jam. There's perfect coffee Matt must have made and Matt smiles a lot and even laughs a few times, and Kelly kind of never wants this to end.

All too soon, though, they need to get ready for shift. Shay catches his eyes, promptly proclaims loudly her right to take a shower first, and rushes off to do just that, squishing the both of them on the way there.

"D'you want to talk about it?" he asks Matt softly, putting all their bowls, plates, mugs and cutlery in the dishwasher, waving away Matt's attempt to help.

Matt looks down at the countertop and shakes his head. "No, I mean," he finally says, looking back at Kelly with a gratitude in his eyes that Kelly feels completely unworthy of, "it's fine, we'll work it out."

"Okay," Kelly answers quietly, not surprised in the least by the faith in Matt's voice, "well, until then you stay here, okay? As long as you need."

They work it out, like they always do (which is why Kelly never tries anything—that and he's _promised_: he's not trying anything unless Matt kisses him first. And if that never happens, so be it). _This time_, it's under five days. Matt hugs him in thanks when he informs Kelly he's moving back in, huge excited smile on his face, and Kelly perhaps squishes him to himself a little too long, if the little dash of guilty confusion that has creeped into Matt's eyes by the time Kelly releases him is an indication.

"Best man at your wedding," Kelly jokes to make him smile again. The by-now-eternal Andy-versus-Kelly competition that will only be resolved when Matt _finally_ does get married. (There's a tiny, inextinguishable spark of hope deep inside Kelly that can't help but selfishly hope he never will.)

Matt does smile, but it's something warmer, deeper, more _fond_. From the bottomless pits of brightness in his eyes, and Kelly feels the soft delight of it in every little shred of his heart.

"Yeah," Matt agrees, in a whisper just as intensely affectionate as his gaze, "you _are_."

He's gone before Kelly can gather enough brain cells to ask what he means exactly, that strangely enigmatic smile still on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marking this story as completed, because obviously I am _utterly incapable_ of doing daily drabbles (yes, those were supposed to be drabbles!) and this is a good place to stop. I _was_ going to ask if anyone wanted to pick prompt-words for me in an effort to keep this going, but I'm too afraid I'd disappoint, since it would have to be pining pre-slash only to fit in here. But hey, I've got a million other things to finish, _and_ I keep eyeing prompts tables on DW—might end up claiming at least one large one sometimes soon, so yeah.
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed this anyway! :D


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